


Come Together

by DuzMachines1984 (orphan_account)



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 09:00:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 2,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9598928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/DuzMachines1984
Summary: Trade fic following Raph as he copes with being the only surviving turtle. This is probably my favorite thing that I've ever written. I'll be linking out because parts of the story aren't strictly written. Feedback would be loved!





	1. Chapter 1

 

_December 13, 2023_  
Gettin cold out. Not that I been out out lately, but I can feel it. Creeps in through the drains, y’know? Melted snow gray sludge pours down the grates. Everything is flooded. Gets pretty disgusting down here without D…

Well, I ain’t got nowhere else to go, anyway. Gotta stay here. Outta sight. Outta mind? Outta my mind, maybe, that’s what Casey would say. Whaddoes he know? Dumb as a box of rocks, that human. Fuckin’ human.

Case and April gonna see the tree in Times Square. Want me to come. I ain’t returned their calls. No trench coat is gonna hide this sack of shit. I don’t want… They know I hate Christmas, anyway. Worst time of the year. Fuckin human holiday anyway. I don’t need it. Ain’t mine.

They don’t get it. I ain’t a part of their world. Geez, I sound like that damn mermaid movie ~~Mikey~~

Fuck, it’s cold.

_December 22, 2023_  
Am I hibernating or dying?

_January 2, 2024_  
They came down yesterday and tol me happy new year. I tol em to get out. Happy. I ain’t happy. If they ever really loved my family, they wouldn’t be happy neither. But they are. They’re human. Whadda they care? Don’t matter to them. Nothin matters to them. They forget. I ain’t never gonna forget. Never gonna forgive.

I know I shouldn’t … be here. Don’t deserve it. Fuck. Fuck, god! I miss them so much. Am I hibernating or dyin? Please let me die. I know I don’t deserve it, but

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

[Audio here](https://duzfic.tumblr.com/post/119738997926/the-journal-of-trade-fic-for) 

-.. — -. .—-. - / -.- -. — .– / …. — .– / .-.. — -. –. / .. .—-. …- . / -… . . -. / ……-. . / .- -. -.– – — .-…-.-.- / .-.. — … - / -.-. — ..- -. - / -.. .- -.– … / .- –. — .-.-.- / -.– . .- .-. … / .- –. — ..–.. / …. .- .-. -.. / - — / .-. . – . – -… . .-. .-.-.- -.-. .- -. .—-. - / … …-.-.- / -.-. .- -. .—-. - / … .–…- -.- .-.-.- / -.-. .- -. / -… .- .-…-.. -.– / – — …- . .-.-.- / … - .- -.– / … .- -…-.-.- / .. .—-. – / - …. . / — -. .-.. -.– / — -…-.-.- / … ……-.. .-.. –..– / - .- .–. / - .- .–. / - .- .–. / ..-. .- - ……-. / – .. -.-. ……-.. .- -. –…-.. — / -.. — -. .- - . .-.. .-.. — / .-. .- .–. …. .- . .-.. / .-.. . — -. .- .-. -.. — / .-.. . — -. .- .-. -.. — / .-.. . — -. .- .-. -.. —

Translation:

Don’t know how long I’ve been here anymore. Lost count days ago. Years ago? Hard to remember. Can’t see. Can’t speak. Can barely move. Stay sane. I’m the only one.

Shell, tap tap tap

Father  
Michelangelo  
Donatello   
Raphael

Leonardo  
Leonardo  
Leonardo


	3. From the Desk of Baxter Stockman

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

January 20, 2024  
The fuck is this shit?? Can’t fuckin sleep with all this goddamn beeping! All this junk flashin and freakin out! Couple’a days now. Don’s old electronic crap. Must be the rain shorting it out. Dunno. Just want it to stop. Maybe April

Jesus fuck, what IS that? Can’t a turtle get any fucking rest down here?

Nah. No rest. Not for us. For me.

Jesus. I sound like one’a Master’s stories …

January ??, 2024  
‘s all my fault. Shoulda tried harder. Trained more. Done something.   
Mikey, little buddy. I’m so sorry.  Donnie. Master Splinter.   
Ain’t fair. Ain’t fair. Shoulda been me. It shoulda been me.   
Sorry.  Sorry sorry sorry Sorry sorry sorry   
SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY

Date Unknown   
Stop beeping. STOP BEEPING.   
DON IS DEAD LEAVE ME ALONE


	5. Chapter 5

[Audio Here](https://duzfic.tumblr.com/post/120091457311/the-journal-of-trade-fic-for)

  


… - . -. -.-. …. / — ..-. / -.…- - …. .-.-.- / … - .- –. -. .- -. - .-.-.- / -.. .-. .. -. -.- / - …. . / … - .- .-.. . / .– .- - . .-. .-.-.- / -… .-…- - …. . / - …. . / -.. . -.-. .- -.– . -.. / .- .. .-. .-.-.- / . .- - / - …. .- - / .– …. .. -.-. …. / -.-. .-. .- .– .-.. … / .. -. / - …. . / -.. .- .-. -.- -….. … .-.-.- / ..-. .. –. …. - / .. -. / -.…- - …. .-.-.- / ..-. .. –. …. - / -.…- - …. .-.-.- / .—- .-.-.- / –. .. / ..— .-.-.- / -.– ..- / …– .-.-.- / .— .. -. / ….- .-.-.- / .-…. / ….. .-.-.- / – .- -.- — - — / -…. .-.-.- / -…. .-.-.- / -…. .-.-.- / .-.-.- .-.-.- .-.-.- ..–..

Translation:

Stench of death. Stagnant. Drink the stale water. Breathe the decayed air. Eat that which crawls in the darkness. Fight in death. Fight death.

1\. Gi  
2\. Yu  
3\. Jin  
4\. Rei  
5\. Makoto  
6.  
6.  
6\. …?


	6. Chapter 6

April 30, 2022

Oh, what a glorious day! With Bishop’s deal, I will finally be free of the oppressive tyranny that tramples my ingenuity! For three years, I concealed my plans and tonight I all my careful genius comes to fruition! I will rid myself of mutants, aliens, and secret facilities for good! I have wondered, on rare occasion, what he hopes to learn from the turtle’s brain. Surely it possesses nothing as impressive as my superior human intellect, but Bishop can waste his money on whatever he chooses. I will most certainly take it and if I never see any of them again, it will be too soon! May Karai rot in hell, as she sure will without my scientific prowess to keep her forces afloat!

I performed one final task under Karai’s direction, though I cannot fathom why I was selected for this ludicrously macabre undertaking. With my golden opportunity for liberation at hand, however, it’s unwise to arouse suspicions, so I relented. My last task for the Foot: to bury Oroku Saki’s deep, dark secrets.

  
I can still smell the decay, even after I scrubbed the dirt from my hands and cleaned under my nails. When I close my eyes, I see them both etched into the backs of my eyelids. I can see the Shredder’s hateful face, impassive and cold like stone. I can see the twist of his bones and the subtle terror flashing through Leonardo’s eyes before I tied the blindfold and heaved the door shut.

  
Perhaps I’ll up my Xanax dosage tomorrow. I will be able to afford it. I will be able to afford anything I want. I will be able to afford my freedom, at long, long last.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

  


  


Transcript:  


February 12, 2024  
I’ve gotten used to it, I guess. The noise is nice. Almost like company. I pretend it’s Don, sometimes, workin’ in the lab and I tell him to shut it and go to bed. Doesn’t help, but it feels almost normal. Makes it seem like he’s here. Better than nothin’. Better the ghost of one brother than nothin’. I go to sleep and he stays up, tappin’ away in there, workin’ on somethin’. He’ll get it and go to sleep sooner or later. Probably sooner, knowin’ Donnie.   
I kinda wish he doesn’t figure it out.   


  


February 13, 2024  
Sleepin’ better than I have in a coupla years. Havin’ Donnie here helps. Wakin’ up and hearin’ him workin’, goin’ to sleep and he’s still at it. Genius is gonna work himself to death. What’s he doin’ in there, anyway? What’s with all the beeping? I go in, sometimes, and look, watch the screens flash. Coordinates? Newspaper articles? Then the constant beeping. I don’t know what he’s tryin’ to do. 

  
Can the dead talk? Can the living listen? Which one is he? Which one am I? I think I’m drinkin’ too much.   


  


February 14, 2024  
Shit. Shit!   
I think I figured it out.


	8. Chapter 8

[Audio Here](https://duzfic.tumblr.com/post/120753805746/the-journal-of-trade-fic-for)

Notes: The background music is Never Forgive Me, Never Forget Me from Silent Hill 3. Title is a nod to Diru.   


-.. -.– .. -. –. / -.. -.– .. -. –. / -.. -.– .. -. –. / -.. -.– .. -. –. / -.. -.– .. -. –. / -.. -.– .. -. –. / -.. -.– .. -. –. / -.. -.– .. -. –. / -.. -.– .. -. –. / -.. -.– .. -. –. / -.. -.– .. -. –. / -.. -.– .. -. –. / -.. -.– .. -. –. / -.. -.– .. -. –.

Translation:

dying dying dying dying dying dying dying dying dying dying dying dying dying dying


	9. Chapter 9

  



	10. Chapter 10

Raphael wakes abruptly, several hours after he’d shut off the lights of Don’s ever-active lab and shuffled himself to bed. He’s been thinking about it, through the haze of ennui and alcohol and nagging depression. What’s the meaning of this? Why is Don’s equipment becoming active now? He knows that it isn’t a short or some random accident; Donatello was too clever for that. This is happening for a reason, but he’s not smart like Don, or even like Leo, and he doesn’t know what that reason is.

It comes to him in a dream or a nightmare or perhaps a substance induced hallucination, but Raph is up, skidding down the halls back to Don’s lab to gawk at the flashing lights and the monotonous beeps. It’s Don; he doesn’t know how, but he’s sure it isn’t just wishful thinking. Don is doing this, was trying to communicate with him, and Raph had been too thick to figure it out. He peers at the screens, examines them, takes the time to actually read the article displaying on a few of the smaller ones.   


It’s a page of obituaries, the same page on every screen, and his eyes are immediately drawn to a familiar, hateful face. With a snarl, he breaks one of the screens, shatters that murderous smile, but it’s everywhere, watching him from multiple angles. It takes a few minutes before Raph calms down enough to read it, and then he rereads it several times, at first sure he’s mistaken, but then just flat out confused.

Survived by his two children, Oroku Karai and Leonardo.

He doesn’t get it, so he moves on to the maps. Those are easy enough to understand. It’s coordinates. Raph is no technicalogocial wizard, but he knows how to operate a computer and understands what Google is. He punches in the coordinates, wondering where Donnie is trying to lead him.

Green-wood Cemetery? He goes back to the obituary, scans it again to confirm. Yes. The Shredder had been buried there, and the two things being shown to him now can’t be a coincidence. Don wants him to go there, of that Raph is sure. What he isn’t sure about is why, but he has one piece left of the puzzle.

The beeping repeated, a few different patterns playing over and over. They were long strings of bloops and dits and Raph squints, then shuts his eyes altogether against the cacophony. It’s nothing! It’s just …noise! Really annoying noise. Frustrated, Raph turns away, storms out. He stalks through the empty lair, all the rooms abandoned by their former occupants, unsure of what to do. He didn’t understand. He wasn’t smart enough. Don was trying to tell him something important, but it was hopeless, a lost cause, because Raphael couldn’t understand.

He decides that it doesn’t matter. Don wants him to go to the place where the Shredder is buried, and that’s enough for now. He’s mildly intoxicated as he gears up and heads topside for the first time in many months.

Green-Wood Cemetery is beautiful, lush and expensively landscaped. It’s where the rich people are buried and Raph has to take care as he scales the fence to avoid cameras. Rich people meant higher security, even in death. Raph doesn’t care; he’s not interested in stealing great-aunt Thelma’s solid gold memorial stone.

The cemetery has a fucking map and Raph snorts through his nose at that, memorizing the twists and turns to the plot labeled Oroku. It’s easy enough to follow, and he slinks through the darkness, disgust roving through him at the grand mausoleum that the Shredder had been laid to rot within. It’s a huge marble building, opulent, ridiculous, and Raph spits on the steps once he’s close enough. If the Shredder had an actual grave he’d piss on it but, seeing as he doesn’t, Raph is a loss for the proper form of desecration.

Circling the tomb gives him nothing. It looks just like the others, except perhaps newer. Nothing seems out of the ordinary at all, and Raph is inexplicably angry at that. He expected … something! Why had Don sent him here!? He realizes he was stupid to come without the full messages, without knowing why he was here and what he was looking for, and Raph is glad he didn’t pee on anything as he sinks down on the cold marble steps, shell to the sealed door.

It takes almost a full half hour of staring blearily into the sky, moping, cursing, before he hears it. It’s different, not beeping, but a very faint tapping, as though far away, but the pattern is unmistakably the same. Raph’s head swivels. He jumps to his feet and rounds the mausoleum again, but he can’t pick it up anywhere other than the front, against the steps. He moves away, and the sound disappears.

Uncertain, but mild horror growing within him, he presses his ear to the door and the tapping grows clearer, louder, more distinct.

Something was inside of there. The beeping, the tapping, it was coming from inside of the Shredder’s tomb, but Raph doesn’t understand what that means or what it is or why he was hearing it. He racks his brain as he examines the door, tests the seal, and tries to discover how to open it. The cemetery, the obituary … survived by … survived by …

Leonardo. 

  
As sure as he was that Don was trying to speak to him, he’s sure that Leo is behind this door. The date of the burial jumps to the forefront of his mind; . Two years ago! Shoving his sai into the frame, he wedges, throws his strength into prying the stone away and, once it’s cracked, he kicks it, wails on it, stealth and caution be damned, until it creaks open just enough to let Raph slip inside.

It’s dank and it stinks, which is saying something coming from someone who lives in a sewer. This is a different type of stench; it’s death and decay and antiqued air. The tapping is louder and Raph blinks back the dust in his eyes, stumbling, feeling in front of him through the darkness.

He trips over something, comes down hard on a knee, skinning it. He looks, feels for what he tripped over.

It’s Leonardo. Kneeled, bound, so caked in filth that Raph might not have recognized him otherwise. The pointer finger of his right hand is steadily tapping against his shell in a slow rhythm, seemingly unaware that Raphael is there, is bending over him, crying and talking, untying him, taking Leo into his arms.

He’s in a sad state. It’s obvious that his limbs were broken before he was restrained and they’ve healed all crooked; Leo wouldn’t have been able to walk at all, even if he had broken loose. How would he have gotten the door open? Raph had barely managed!

“Leo,” He croaks, and his brother keeps tapping, eyes closed even once the blindfold is removed, letting himself be manipulated in Raph’s arms as though nothing has changed. Raph doesn’t know what to do, but he has to do something.

Pressing a quick kiss to his temple, Raph assures his eldest brother before hauling his rail thin frame up onto his shell. “It’s alright, Leo,” He says, the name dying in mouth, bottoming out his stomach, “I got you. Okay? You’re goin’ home. You’re gonna be with your family.”

Somewhere along the way back to the sewers, the tapping fades away.


End file.
